Haunted Dream

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," I chanted under my raspy breath.

Hello. My name is Annabella.

And I'm in the middle of a zombie infestation.

What? Not satisfied?

Well fuck you. Let's see you start a prologue while trying to survive an epidemic.

Suddenly a crash was heard outside the master bedroom. I was house-sitting this winter vacation for my neighbors who would be gone all week.

Well, I don't think they'll be planning to come back home anytime soon.

I could still hear the news going on in the living room.

I whimpered slightly trying to gain control of myself. My nerves were out of hand and I was shaking erratically.

Whatever that I killed, was still. . . out there. Still. . . alive.

Now I've seen a fair share of zombie movies and I know how Dawn of the Dead ended. So now what?

I was suppose to take my shirt off and pull on some suspenders and Milla Jovovich the whole damn scene?

Pull maybe a grenade out of my vajayjay. A machine gun out of my ass?!

Not gonna happen.

But what was going to happen was that I would make sure my family was okay. That Mom, Dad, and the twins were safe.

Suddenly I felt a surge of adrenaline within me. Just thinking about my family being harmed absolutely filled me with some sort of new energy.

"Fuck. I better put this adrenaline to use before I pussy out," I said out loud to myself. Getting pumped, I looked around for any sort of weapon that might be useful.

Quickly making up my mind that not only were my neighbors completely neat freaks, they also were definitely not prepared for a zombie infestation.

My breathing still not calm, I tried to search for anything that could possibly sever the. . .thing's head off!

Fine! Maybe not sever, maybe a stab! A bruise for Chrissake! Anything!

I grabbed for the twisting rod for the blinds and tugged. With my luck, stupid thing wouldn't budge.

And the bangs were getting closer.

I pulled and pulled but the blinds just shook violently, not giving in.

The bangs were at the door.

I bit my lip and yanked.

The door flew open and the . . . whatever he was! Let's just name him Frank for his and my sake.

Frank stumbled in groaning and wheezing. The stench of rotten flesh was putrid and I tried not to vomit then and there.

The blinds collapsed all together on top of me and Frank waddled towards the tangled mess.

I frantically twisted, tugged, and wretched the rod but it just. Wouldn't. Budge!

Frank, which by stench, was closer than ever and I could almost feel his measly flesh on mine.

With one distressed kick to his. . . abdomen, Frank stumbled backwards and toppled over a few feet away from me.

I let out a pathetic cry, my adrenaline disappearing and pounding fear pulsing through my ears.

I guess that stupid blind rod felt sympathetic for me because it had snapped off but not in time.

Frank found my bare leg satisfying and was clawing at it viciously. Barely scraping it as I squirmed and kicked viciously at his face and hands.

I scrambled up with my weapon of choice and lo-and-behold. The rod wasn't even stable!

Not stiff at all! It wobbled just in my touch.

"Waaaaaahhh," I whined and stamped my feet. Now that I was armed with fucking Gumby, maybe we could defeat the world!

Not.

With a reluctant step, I hit Frank on the head.

Well. . . more of a slap. But you get it.

I kept at my. . .hissy well effort placedpokes punches but no avail.

Luckily, with an accidental slip of the rod, it went straight forward into Frank's neck.

Hearing a not so satisfying series of cracks which was probably the rod going through the decaying bones and flesh did not correspond well with my internal system.

In short:

I spewed.

All over Frank.

Ah well. He wasn't that great looking to begin with.

His grayish blackish rotten skin was missing in some places of his face, arms and stomach. His tattered business suit was filthy and revealed what looked like fifth degree burns (if there were such things). He looked like he belonged in the ICU with his missing eyeball and gashing scalp.

He looked- well. . . dead.

Managing to trip over a puke-covered-Frank, I stumbled out of the bedroom, into the living room, and out the front door.

With the back of my hand I wiped my mouth of its bad aftertaste, and observed the neighborhood. The quiet, reserved suburbs of Kingman, Arizona has turned into that of chaos and havoc.

Our quaint little town was going under a siege.

I wondered if it was happening over the whole US as it would be in the movies.

Was it just us?

It was apparent by the dozens of life-less figures roaming around the frenzy of families trying to avoid and escape infection.

Hearing Frank's groans, I sprinted over the hedge, except not really. I tripped over it, like I always do.

But this time, I didn't have Mr. Neilson yelling at me for it.

"Annabella!"

I looked up to see a familiar teenager running to me.

"Luke?" I groaned from my clumsy position. He helped me up. Usually he would taunt me and retort on how unstable I was.

"I'm leaving," He said in an uneasy voice.

I nodded.

"Have you seen your family? I know you were house sitting,"

I shook my head.

"Well. I guess this is good bye then Annabella," Luke said.

I don't think it had hit me harder than it had right there.

He wasn't moving away.

Or going to college.

Or going on vacation.

He was surviving.

We would never see each other again. Never know what would happen to each other.

I quickly latched onto him as if he were my life saver aboard the Titanic.

He clutched on as well, we pulled apart and he placed his lips on mine.

I didn't pull away. It was a delicate, sorrow filled kiss.

Not between lovers or enemies.

But just. . . a farewell kiss.

"I'll always remember you Annabella. Look me up if you aren't bitten, yeah?" Luke chuckled in a worrisome manner.

"Goodbye Luke," I sighed.

"Annabella," Luke said right before he turned away, staring straight into my eyes. "Keep your head up,"

I nodded and watched him sprint away down the street. Probably to his family.

What we both wouldn't know however was that he wouldn't be going back to a family.

He would reach home to see his family butchered. His mother midst turning into one of the dead and his new born baby brother slaughtered.

I made my was inside the house to see my own family panicking.

"Annabella!" my own mother cried and fell upon me. I held onto her and helped her up.

"Annabella!" The twins chorused. Carrie and Hannah hugged me as if we actually got along. They each turned eight last month.

"Bell! Baby, you're okay. Good," My father stomped through holding what was a backpack. "What happened to your leg?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, I'm okay," I shook my head, not able to form sentences.

"You weren't bitten were you?" Mother asked, frightened. I frantically shook my head.

"Good," Dad said. "Let's go everyone. They're holding an emergency rescue plan at the high school gym for the. . . survivors,"

I winced at that term.

Survivors.

Would we be one of them?